The Reno Chronicles
by 3 Wrinkles and a Crease
Summary: 3 Wrinkles and a Crease is the collaborative efforts of Boomercat, Lynn, Rlynch and Spense. These were the challenge stories written for our trip to Reno, Nevada in July 2005.
1. Prologue

THE RENO CHRONICLES

In July of 2005, Boomercat, Lynn, Rlynch and Spense met in Reno, Nevada. One idea we decided on prior to leaving was that each person would write a story to bring with them. Lynn chose the word "_Balcony_". So each story had to have the word _balcony_ in it somewhere.

The results were as varied as the writers themselves. Lynn, our amazing editor, chose not to write, but rather, corrected all of the errors the rest of us made (thank heavens), red pen ever at the ready.

The stories were enjoyed by all of the participants, and now we present them to you to enjoy as well.


	2. Boomercat Deep Waters

**Deep Waters**

By Boomercat

A/N: This story was written in June 2005. No one was more dismayed than I was with the recent news of a Russian sub down. Any similarities between this story and the facts of that rescue are spookily coincidental. But given the fact that the coincidences are there, I respectfully dedicate this story to all of the brave men and women who risk their lives to explore the deep places of the world.

A flicker of movement caught Jeff Tracy's eye as he sat at his desk in the lounge of his palatial home on Tracy Island. Lifting his head, he saw his second son Virgil joining his eldest, Scott, on the balcony that ran along the front of the house. Seeing the serious demeanor of his sons aroused his curiosity.

Looking down at the financial reports littering his desk, Jeff decided he could spare a few minutes to talk to his boys. Both men turned as their father joined them. "Scott, Virgil, what's up? Why the long faces?"

With a small shake of his head, Scott replied. "It's nothing, Dad. That rescue of the submarine that John's keeping an eye on. We're just tossing around our options if it goes sour and we get called in."

With a raised eyebrow Jeff asked, "Where's Gordon?"

It was Virgil who responded. "He's holed up in his bedroom, listening to the chatter. He has John giving him a live feed from WASP headquarters."

Scott shifted uncomfortably. "We think he may have some buddies on that sub."

Jeff nodded. "Yes, I noticed the look on his face when we first got word. Well, buck up, boys. Chances are WASP can take care of their own. The last I heard they had that new submersible on site."

"Yes, but Father, what if they can't?" Virgil was unwilling to let it go. "What if they call us in? If Gordon's friends are on that sub, we can't let him anywhere near it. And how will you tell him he can't go?"

"I'll cross that bridge if I have to. In the meantime, stop worrying. It doesn't do any good."

Virgil looked unconvinced and might have said something more, but Scott spoke first. "Yes, sir. Come on, Virg, we'll go down to the hangar. Make sure we've got everything in order in case worse comes to worst."

Jeff watched as his sons walked away. He stood for a few minutes looking out across the water, then with a shake of his head, turned to head back to his desk and the reports awaiting him.

Several hours later, Jeff looked up at the flashing eyes of his son John's portrait. The flashing signaled a communication from the young man, and Jeff felt his stomach tighten as he made the connection. "Go ahead, John."

"Father, I've been following that sub rescue in the North Atlantic, and I think they have trouble."

Jeff glanced up as Gordon strode quickly into the room, thin lipped and pale. "What kind of trouble, son?"

"Well, they sent down a DSV about three hours ago, and shortly after locating the sub, the DSV lost contact. They've been sounding increasingly frantic about it, and I'm pretty sure they're going to call us in."

Jeff directed his next question to Gordon standing tensely in front of him. "Doesn't the Navy have assets that can handle this?"

With a shake of his head, Gordon replied, "No, Dad. The Navy's DSV fleet was dry-docked after the NanCon fiasco last month. That sub is too deep for any conventional rescue. We might as well face it, they're going to need us. We've got to get out there."

Clenching his jaw against what was to come, Jeff hit the alert button that would summon his other sons. "Gordon, are there people you know on that submarine?"

Gordon ran his hand through his hair. "I don't know, Dad. At a guess, I would say there would have to be. I haven't been gone all that long, and WASP submariners tend not to transfer out. But I won't know for sure until I get out there."

There was a quiet clatter as Scott, Virgil and Alan came in. "Son, we can't take that risk. You know that. Under the circumstances, you're going to have to sit this one out. Scott, you'll handle Thunderbird Four. Alan, I want you in Thunderbird One. You'll take care of mobile control. Get moving, boys. Thunderbirds are go."

There was a pause. Jeff reflected that he hadn't even told his other sons where they were going. Then Gordon spoke. "Don't do this to me, Father."

The words were quiet. Gordon was so tense that Jeff got the definite impression that a single touch and his son would shatter like an exploding bomb. From the look on Scott and Virgil's faces, bomb was an understatement. Alan stood with a slight frown on his face, clearly not quite understanding what was happening.

Sighing, Jeff said, "This isn't about you, son."

Gordon vehemently shook his head. "You're putting security above safety. I'm the best man for the job, and you know it." Looking around, Gordon appealed to his brother Scott, International Rescue's field commander. "Scott, back me up here!"

Jeff watched as Scott considered the demand. He had tremendous respect for his eldest son's intelligence, and instincts, but he couldn't help the ire that started to rise at the threat to his authority. Before he could say anything, though, Scott came to his own decision and said, "We'll talk about it after we get home. Alan, Virg, let's get going."

Scott turned and strode away, Virgil practically on his heels. Alan stood for a moment looking from his brothers' retreating backs to Gordon, standing stock still in front of his father's desk. After trying unsuccessfully to catch Gordon's eye, Alan slunk over to the wall sconces that marked the entrance to Thunderbird One's hangar.

Left alone, Jeff reached a tentative hand out to his fourth son. "Gordon…"

The young man's head whipped around and Jeff caught a glimpse of utter betrayal before Gordon's face went expressionless. "I'll be in my room."

As his son fled the room, Jeff found himself caught between the concern of a father, and the irritation of a commander. Wiping his hand over his face, Jeff sighed. He'd deal with the fallout later. For now, he had a rescue to run. "John, I want three-way contact at all times. Scott's going to need all the help he can get on this one."

John, who had seen the entire confrontation, seemed glad of something constructive to do. With his eyes on his board, he called out in a subdued voice, "FAB, Father."

Jeff settled back into his seat with a sigh. Knowing it would be some time before Thunderbird One reached the North Atlantic rescue site, Jeff picked up his pen and one of the reports with the intention of getting back to work.

Some forty minutes later when Alan called in from Thunderbird One, Jeff was still staring unseeing at the same report. "Thunderbird One to Base. I'm approaching the danger zone."

"All right, son."

"Alan, your target is a research ship, the SS Mobile."

"Okay, John. I see her. Uh, I don't see a landing deck though."

"They said there is a pad at the back of the ship."

"THAT? Oh, God, it's about the size of a Ping-Pong table. How do they expect me to land there?"

Jeff took a deep breath. "Son, if you don't feel you can do it safely, then don't even try."

"No, I can do it, Father. It's just… it just caught me offguard is all. I'm going in now."

Alan's face was pale but determined. Scott's face when he chimed in from Thunderbird Two was paler still. "Alan, stand off a bit. Let Virg and me get there, and I'll talk you in."

"That kind of defeats the purpose of getting me here quick, don't you think? I can handle this Scott."

"Yeah, fine, okay, but stand off and bring up the cameras. Let me see what you're talking about."

Jeff watched as Alan rolled his eyes, but obediently keyed the cameras in the belly of Thunderbird One. Jeff sucked in a deep breath. The research ship in question was not all that large, the so-called 'landing pad' looked flimsy and small, the waves were high and the ship was rolling.

Jeff was about to call the landing off when Scott said, "You're going to have to come in from below and behind."

"Yeah, I figured as much. Well, there's no time like the present."

Jeff watched as the view from Thunderbird One's cameras showed the Alan's progress. As the ship dipped closer to the water, Scott called out, "Be careful, Alan. Too low, and a wave will clip your wing. That's one swim you don't want to take."

"Right. Okay, here goes nothing!"

Jeff gasped as the nose camera showed the fantail of the ship rushing toward him. At the last possible second, Thunderbird One began to rise. The view was so close to the ship, that Jeff could make out the faces of people onboard watching. Just when a collision seemed inevitable, the nose cleared the fantail, and suddenly gray sky was visible.

With a thud that was audible through the commlink, Thunderbird One settled down on the ship. The camera flicked off to be replaced by Alan's face, grinning like a madman. "Made it!"

Scott response was relieved. "Good job, Alan. Make sure she's secure before you go anywhere, right?"

"Yes, Mother. What's your E.T.A.?"

It was Virgil who replied, "We'll be with you in forty-two point seven minutes."

Jeff had to smile at that. Virgil took great pride on his ability to accurately predict when he would arrive anywhere. Usually when left behind, Gordon would pull out a stopwatch whenever Virgil stated an E.T.A. He had never yet been wrong.

Jeff had rather hoped Gordon would come out and listen in with him. It always made the tension less when there was someone to share it with, and Gordon had a knack for saying things that took Jeff's mind off the worst possibilities. Jeff shook the thought away. If Gordon wanted to sulk, so be it. It wouldn't change anything, and for now, Jeff had other jobs to worry about.

Shortly after he touched down, Alan reported having set up Mobile Control, and started supplying his brothers with a stream of information on conditions and the situation. Jeff learned that the DSV, the Mary Burton, had found the sub, the Het Mes, on the seafloor at 6700 feet. The sub was intact, and they had made contact with at least some survivors. The Mary Burton had gone in for a closer look when suddenly, the pilot had cried out and then was cut off. There had been nothing but silence ever since.

Jeff shifted in his seat. He didn't like this at all. Without knowing why contact had been lost, Scott would be going in blind. While his eldest son was capable, the truth was most of his experience in Thunderbird Four was in simulators, or with Gordon sitting behind him in the cockpit. This was going to be a test of fire, and if it had been anyone other than his levelheaded, brilliant eldest, he might have called the whole thing off.

Jeff was considering calling Gordon and demanding that he return to the lounge when Virgil announced his arrival onsite. Jeff was immediately brought into a heated discussion between Alan and Virgil over Virgil's continued participation in the rescue. There was no place to land Thunderbird Two, and Alan was insisting that Virgil return to base once Pod Four was released. To say Virgil was indignant was to understate the matter, and he was flatly refusing to leave.

"That's not going to happen, Alan, so just shut the hell up!"

"Virgil, Father put me in command, and I am not asking you, I am ordering you. Drop the pod and leave. This is going to take five or six hours at the very least, and I need you to be rested when Scott surfaces." Alan was using a tone of sweet reason that was guaranteed to grate on the nerves of his older brother.

"Drop dead, I'm not leaving."

"Virgil! Alan is in command here. What he says, goes!" Scott's voice was diamond hard.

"Scott, what if something goes wrong? What if you get into trouble?"

"If he gets in trouble, I'll deal with it."

Alan's response was confident, but Jeff couldn't help but remember his son was barely out of his teens. Still, Jeff had placed the young man in command, and he couldn't undermine that command without undermining his own position. "Boys, how about a compromise? Virgil, take Thunderbird Two to Creighton-Ward Manor. You can monitor the situation from there, and if Alan feels he needs you, you can be there quickly."

Alan was nodding his head, despite Virgil's continuing glower. "Yes, that works. We'll do that."

"Sounds good." Scott's firm reply cut off Virgil who looked like he'd argue.

Realizing he had no support, Virgil gave in gracefully. "Yeah, okay. But you'll call me at the first hint of a problem, right?"

"Definitely."

"Sorry, I hassled you, Al."

"No problem, Virg. You just make sure you keep Two warmed up and ready to go."

"I will."

"Fine. Peace and love. But would you mind dropping the pod? I'd like to get to work here," drawled Scott.

Silence reigned for all of five seconds before Alan quipped, "You have my permission to drop the pod from two thousand feet, Virg."

"FAB, Commander, sir. Two thousand feet it is."

Jeff smiled. He was constantly amazed and relieved at the camaraderie his sons shared. He had known of families where the siblings could barely remain civil in each other's company. His sons had been close since childhood. It was one of the vital aspects that made International Rescue possible.

"Releasing pod, now."

It was back to business. Jeff looked up at Scott's live feed when his son grunted as the pod hit water. With a frown the handsome young man said, "I thought you guys were kidding."

"What do you mean, Scott?"

"How high was that drop, Virg?"

"Forty feet. Standard operating procedure. Why?"

"Well, it hurt, that's why. I never realized how tough that drop was."

John muttered something under his breath. Scott's eyes narrowed. "What was that? I couldn't quite make it out, John."

Never one to back down, John stared coolly. "I said, 'what a creampuff'."

"Yeah? Maybe you should come down here and try it."

Alan said, just as coolly as John, "Gordy doesn't complain."

"Well, he damn well should. Enough of this. I'm diving now. I'll see you guys in a while."

Jeff had been about to intervene, but Scott had it well in hand. He noticed the soft smirks on Virgil, John and Alan's faces. Then he saw the private little smile on Scott's. His eldest son had tremendous instincts where his younger brothers were concerned, and Jeff realized Scott had just allowed John and Alan to score a few points at his expense. Jeff caught Scott's eye and smiled.

Virgil called out, "Hey John, call Lady P and tell her to put the tea on, would you? Tell her I'll park on the back porch."

Jeff smiled again as John acknowledged the request. Penny's 'back porch' was a spacious well-groomed rose garden that had been cultivated by her family for over a century. It was a private joke that his sons shared with the elegant heiress. They delighted in coming up with new methods to wreak havoc on the stately trained trellises and plantings.

"Speaking of Gordon, Father, I think he should stand by in case Scott needs his advice." Alan was taking his job as field commander very seriously, and Jeff felt a tickle of pride in his youngest's clear thinking.

As he reached for the intercom, Gordon's voice rang out. "I'm here, Al. Scott, what are you doing? Quit dicking around and dive."

He didn't care for the language, but Jeff kept quiet, relieved that Gordon was there. Scott's voice held a tinge of relief too. "What do you mean? I AM diving."

"No, Scott, look at your rate of descent. It'll take you three hours to reach the seafloor. Put the nose down, Scott. Think of it as a power dive in Thunderbird One."

"Your little tin boat is nothing like Thunderbird One."

"Damn straight, it isn't. Change your plane of dive to 120 degrees."

"120 degrees. Gordon, don't you think that drop from Thunderbird Two is a little hard? We need to talk to Brains about some extra padding."

"Actually, I think we should change the gimbal settings on Thunderbird One. The pilot's seat has way too much give in it."

"What? That seat is perfect the way it is."

"Maybe, but the color is all wrong. Why don't you let me get it re-upholstered for you? I know where I can get a good price on burnt orange vinyl."

"Orange? No, Gordy, we gotta go with white. White with maroon stripes." Alan entered the conversation.

"What, you mean like racing stripes?"

"Yeah. Oh, and maybe some neat decals."

"Yeah, Quiksilver, maybe."

"Well, I was thinking more along the lines of Arch Heads. Now, that's a cool logo."

"I've always kind of liked the Moondoggie logo," John's voice lazed.

"You would. Hey Scott, how about something tasteful to reflect your generation? I hear Preparation H has a decent decal."

"Rogaine."

"Oh, how about Fixodent?" That came from Virgil.

Finally Scott growled, "You know, I won't be down here forever. Keep it up, and you are all going to regret it."

Amid the general snickers, Gordon responded. "Scott you're approaching five thousand feet. You might want to prep the camera drones."

"FAB."

Jeff was tolerant of the chatter between the boys. Whenever it started to get rough, one or another of them would pull it back just as Gordon had.

"Okay, the drones are prepped. Coming up on 6000 feet."

"Full stop, Scott."

"What? Why?"

"You don't want to get too close. Whatever took down those boats could take you out as well. Send out the camera drones and let them do the work."

"Right. Deploying drones. John, are you getting anything from either of these subs?"

"No, Scott. Not a peep."

"All right. I've got a ledge on my scope. I'm going to set Four down so I can concentrate on the drones."

Jeff nodded as he listened. He approved of Scott's caution. Apparently so did Gordon, because the young aquanaut made no further comment. After a few minutes, Scott called out, "Okay, I'm bringing the cameras online."

Scott's face disappeared in lieu of a split screen showing the view from the twin drones. There wasn't much to see. The undersea world was pitch-black beyond the limited range of the cameras. There was some particulate matter suspended in the water, but not even much of that. Jeff found the view singularly unappealing, and once again found himself wondering just what Gordon found so fascinating.

The drones were moving slowly through the black water when suddenly Gordon called out. "Whoa! What was that? Scott bring Drone 2 to a stop."

"Why? I didn't see anything. What did you see?"

Jeff's thoughts reflected Scott's. The unremitting sameness of the view hadn't changed, so what was Gordon talking about? He leaned forward curious to see more.

Scott brought both drones to a halt and Gordon spoke again. "Good. Now, pan to the left. There… stop right there… what is that?"

Jeff frowned, unable to see anything different about the view. He opened his mouth to speak, but John beat him to it. "Gordon, are you wearing your x-ray glasses again? Because I for one can't see a thing different about this view."

Gordon's voice was clearly worried when he responded. "Scott, zoom in on the seafloor two degrees left of center."

Jeff was mystified. As the camera tightened its view, all he saw was a kind of fuzziness in the center of the screen. He was about to ask Scott to correct the focus, when the young man asked in a puzzled tone, "What is that, Gordon? It's like the camera is out of focus, but I checked and it isn't."

There was dead silence for almost a minute when Gordon said quietly, "Oh, man."

"What, son? What is it?"

"I think it's fishing net."

"Fishing net?"

"Yeah. It's this new product for commercial fishermen. It's called gossamer three netting, and it's practically invisible, but very strong. Scott, you need to stay away from it. Johnny, can you contact Brains for me?"

Puzzled, but compliant, John replied, "FAB, Gordon."

"Gordon, what's the big deal? So it's a bit of fishing net, what can it hurt?" Alan joined the conversation.

"Brains and I were talking the other day, and he said something about G3 netting. I think he knows something about it."

"Like what? We don't have time for a side tour here, Gordon. Those people on the sub need my help."

"Oh. Well, if you don't want my advice, Scott, all you have to do is say so." Gordon said frostily.

"Don't get on your high horse, I'm just asking."

"Uh, uh, this is Brains. How can I help you, uh, Gordon?" Jeff was relieved to hear the brilliant engineer's voice. Brains was at a conference in Buenos Aires and Jeff glad to have his expertise available.

"Brains, remember when you were talking about G3 netting? What was it you were saying about it under pressure?"

"Oh, uh, I performed a few simple experiments with some, uh, samples of it, and found that pressure strengthens the polymer bonds exponentially. It is uh, quite remarkable stuff, and I hope to uh, find a way to utilize it in our uh, rescue work."

"Okay, so absolute pressure at 6000 feet under the sea is about 2600 pounds per square inch…"

"Actually, uh, Gordon, at 6000 feet, the pressure would be 2687 pounds per square inch."

"Right. So what would that kind of pressure do to G3 netting?"

There was a moment of silence as the young genius did a calculation in his head. "It would increase the tensile strength of the uh, netting to roughly that of three inch thick steel cable."

"Okay, Brains. Listen, I think the WASP sub that sank in the North Atlantic may be fouled on some of this crap. You have any suggestions on how to clear it?"

"Ah. There has been a great deal of uh, speculation here at the uh, conference as to exactly what had become of that ship. Are you sure of your information, Gordon?"

"No, not yet. But if it is fouled, how could we clear it?"

"Thunderbird Four's laser cutter should do the trick, uh, Gordon. The intense heat should melt the bonds quite nicely. You'll need to be very careful, though. Because of its light weight, and near invisibility, it could easily, uh, jam your intakes."

"What, you mean if Thunderbird Four got too close, the net could be sucked into the engines, and land up stuck on the sea bottom just like the sub and DSV sent to rescue it?"

Brains sounded puzzled at Gordon's statement of the obvious. "Uh, yes, Gordon."

"Under 6000 feet of water with no hope of ever reaching the surface again?"

"Well, you could…"

Scott interrupted, "All right, all right, I get it. Brains, thanks for your help. Is there anything else you want to tell us about this stuff?"

"Uh, no, Scott. Just that Gordon needs to be extremely careful."

"Right, thanks, Brains."

"FAB, Scott."

Jeff felt a tight knot in the pit of his stomach. This rescue had suddenly become infinitely more dangerous. Gordon had probably been right about going. There had been no question about his being the better man for the job, but Jeff had weighed the risk and now he would have to face the consequences. He could only hope that Scott was up to the job.

"Okay, so, what do I do now?" Scott's confidence helped loosen the knot a bit.

"I think you want to bring Four over to the drones. I want you to try the laser cutter on that crap. Make sure that it works. Don't get too close though. Get within about twenty feet, then shut down the engines and let her drift in. I don't want to risk it being sucked into the intakes."

"FAB. Moving in now."

"Scott, cut in your nose camera."

"FAB."

Jeff watched anxiously as the screen split into thirds, and Thunderbird Four moved slowly forward. Now that he knew what to look for, his eyes kept darting from one screen to another looking for any more of the tell tale fuzziness.

"Engines are shut down."

"Good. Be ready to reverse engines if you need too, Scott. You're looking good so far."

Within moments, the third screen showed a view of the second drone as Thunderbird Four drifted up from behind. Jeff held his breath until the camera showed the small scout craft had halted. The fuzzy patch looked to be a few feet square when compared with the drone which was slightly off to the side.

"Okay, I'm in position. Firing up the laser cutter now."

In the gloom of the water, the laser showed up a bright actinic green. The ray passed completely through the net, and Jeff felt his heart sink. Then, as he watched, the green spear of light seemed to spread throughout the fuzziness, and for a moment, the deadly net was clearly visible as hair thin lines tangled together. A moment later, and the lines seemed to dissolve in the water to nothingness.

"It works!" Alan crowed jubilantly.

"Yeah, but you're not out of the woods yet, Scott. Listen, I think you'll do better for now if you only send one of the drones. You can't really control them both and watch both screens for the net." Gordon was still clearly worried.

"Hey, you know, we still don't know for a fact that that net is even out there. This piece here might be the only bit."

Jeff could only hope that Scott was right. He kept quiet, not wanting to interrupt. Sometimes being in command meant just let others get on with the job, and his instincts told him this was one of those times. He made a conscious effort to relax, but it was no good. Until Scott was safely back on Thunderbird Two, Jeff was going to remain on edge.

"Okay. I've got Drone One back on board. Sending Two forward."

It was easier to concentrate with only the single drone, but the wraithlike nature of the net made the watch tense.

"Scott, up bubble on the drone."

"FAB."

The drone's movement was only visible by the reaction of occasional particles suspended in the water, but on Gordon's command, those few particles obediently moved downward. Out of the dark, suddenly there appeared more fuzziness. The drone stopped moving even before Gordon could call out.

Without any instruction from his brother, Scott had the drone's camera pan to the left. The fuzziness extended in that direction as far as the light could reach. When the camera panned to the right, the story was the same, except for a dark lump near the edge of the light.

"What's that?" Alan's called out anxiously.

"Dead fish. It's what nets do." Gordon said woodenly. "Scott, what does the imager see? How far off is the sub?"

"I'm within a hundred feet of her according to this."

"Okay, send the camera up, but be careful, no forward motion if you can help it. I want to see the extent of this thing."

"Yeah, sounds good."

The view from the drone slowly rose as the little device floated upward. Jeff squinted. Was that the edge of the net? Gordon's voice rang out. "Scott, it looks like you're above it now."

"Yeah. I agree. Sending the drone forward."

"Wait. Um, how far above the seabed are you?"

"The drone is at fifty feet. Why?"

"Okay, I want you to raise it up another twenty feet. Then move ahead slowly."

"FAB." If Scott had any doubts about Gordon's instructions, they certainly didn't show. The drone continued upward for a bit then moved cautiously forward.

The journey resumed the same unrelenting sameness as before, but this time, Jeff could feel the tension running through his body. The threat that the net held seemed preposterous on the surface. It looked as insubstantial as the hairnets that his great grandmother had worn. But he had no reason to disbelieve what Brains and Gordon said about it. If it could stop a four hundred-foot long submarine, what chance would Scott in thirty-five foot long Thunderbird Four have?

"Whoa! Stop, Scott!"

Jeff frowned. He could see nothing unusual about the view from the drone. Apparently neither could Scott because his voice was puzzled. "What? Why?"

Before Gordon could answer, the view from the drone seemed to go crazy, swinging around in a crazy arc. Scott swore. "What the hell? Damn it! I've lost control!"

The view from the drone continued an erratic course, but now, the fuzziness was back worse than ever and it became obvious the drone was wound up in the net. Finally the movement stopped, and the view settled down to a gentle sway.

There was no censure in Gordon's voice when he sighed. "Okay, twenty feet was not enough. Try Drone One a hundred feet above the seabed, Scott."

Scott was subdued when he responded. "Gordon, exactly how big do you suppose this net is?"

"I don't know, maybe a couple of square miles."

"Square MILES?"

"Yeah. See, the things have no weight to them. A trawler can carry this gigantic net and sweep up everything in one cast. Tremendous cost savings. Feed the world in a single trip. Of course, it devastates entire fish populations, but who cares about that?"

Gordon's deadly sarcastic tone raised a sardonic remark from John. "Don't hold back, Gordon. Tell us how you really feel."

"Two words for you, Johnny. Moon mining."

Jeff snorted. All of his sons had their passions, but now was not the time. "All right, boys, enough."

Jeff felt a bit of relief when Gordon's automatic response of "Yes, Father," was no less prompt than John's. At least the young man was talking to him, if somewhat indirectly.

Scott brought them all back to the task at hand. "Okay, I've got Drone One on its way. I'm cutting in the camera now."

The view changed from the net-captured Drone Two to that of Drone One. It was rising a bit quicker than its counterpart had, but when the upward movement stopped, and the forward movement commenced, it slowed considerably. Jeff resumed his tense scrutiny of the screen.

This time the journey forward seemed interminable. Jeff waited for more of the net to appear, but the screen remained blessedly clear. Finally, a curved metal wall appeared out of the gloom. Scott brought the drone to a halt. There seemed to be no landmarks on the gray hull, but Gordon said confidently, "Okay, Scott, you're about two thirds of the way back from her nose. Go to the left, and raise her up about ten feet."

"If you say so." Muttered Scott. The drone moved obediently to the left, rising as it went. The hull seemed to curve away from the camera's view, and eventually another wall came into view.

"Good. The conning tower is clear. If nothing else, we can evacuate the crew through the upper hatches."

"Evacuate the crew?" There was no missing the dismay in Alan's voice. "Gordon, that'll take forever!"

"That's a last ditch solution, Alan. I'd rather we freed the sub, but if the choice is between evacuating and risking losing Thunderbird Four, I'll take evacuating."

"You're all heart." Scott said deadpan.

"Move the drone up to the bow, Scott. Let's see if she's caught up there." Gordon wisely didn't rise to the bait. The drone moved forward along the hull, and eventually came to the bulbous nose of the craft.

Gordon grunted. "Yeah, that's pretty much what I expected."

When he said nothing more, Jeff asked. "What? Son, you're the expert here. None of the rest of us know what you're looking for."

"Sorry, Dad. Guys, this sub is one of the older ones in the fleet. It can go really deep, but it doesn't use the new impeller drive. That's good, actually. It means unlike Thunderbird Four, this sub doesn't have intake scoops to get jammed. The power plant simply turns the screws at the back. It's most likely the screws are fouled. All you'll have to do is clear the net from the propellers, and if she hasn't burned out her engines, she'll be able to get to the surface under her own power."

"Oh, gee. Is that all? Then I should be done here in a few minutes, right?"

"Well, I'd be done in a few minutes. You, it shouldn't take more than two or three days."

"Ha-ha. Very funny. I'm heading the drone toward the back of the ship."

"Go slow, son. Those drones don't grow on trees, you know." Jeff felt a little cost effectiveness wouldn't hurt.

"Yes, Father." The response came easily to Scott. It was an acknowledgement of an equal not the response of a subordinate, and Jeff wouldn't have it any other way.

Things quieted temporarily as the drone made its slow way toward the back of the beleaguered ship. Once the drone passed the conning tower, Jeff leaned forward, determined to spot the net when his eagle-eyed fourth son did. Still, when Gordon called out "Full stop, Scott!" Jeff hadn't seen even a bit of the haziness that implied the net's presence.

"Pan down, and to the right, Scott."

"FAB." The drone's camera angled to catch sight of… something large and yellow."

"Gordon?"

"It's the Mary Burton. See? She's hung up on that bit of net over her communications mast. Maybe you should cut her free first, Scott."

"FAB. I'll head over there now."

"Oh, uh… maybe you should clear the Het Mes first."

"What? Why? Gordon, those guys in the DSV are looking straight at me. I can't just leave them."

"Yeah, um, yes you can. They're looking at the drone, not at you. They'll be fine. You need to get the Het Mes clear. If she can rise, she'll take the Mary Burton with her. They can get untangled on the surface."

There was dead silence as Scott considered this. Jeff was sure he and Scott were both thinking there was more to Gordon's sudden hesitation than he was admitting to.

After a few more moments, Scott muttered, "Fine." The drone moved on toward the back of the ship. Just where the stern was, the drone picked up the unmistakable fuzziness of the net. It seemed to be everywhere. Scott panned the camera up and down, left and right, but the net floated in all directions. "Now what?"

"Now you circle around. I want you to keep Thunderbird Four as far away from this thing as possible. Back off, and put at least a mile between you and the sub. Then circle around and come at her head on. I'm betting most of the net is twisted around her screws and the stern of the boat. If you come in from the bow, you should be relatively safe."

"Yeah, that sounds good. I'm moving off now."

After a few moments, the screen split again, showing the camera views from Drone One, which Scott had settled onto the hull of the sub, and Thunderbird Four gliding slowly backward through the murky depth.

Jeff leaned back in his chair trying to loosen tense muscles. He worked his jaw side to side, then his head, but his eyes never left the screen where his son's life was at risk. The rescue seemed to be under control, but Jeff knew how quickly that could change. As the little sub began its mile-wide circle, Jeff suddenly stood up. He could sit no longer. He paced for a bit, then deciding, strode down the hallway to the bedroom wing of the house.

With a perfunctory tap on the door, Jeff entered his son Gordon's room. The young man looked up from his computer, a wary question in his eyes. "Son, come out the lounge."

Jeff turned and left the room without waiting for a reply. He made his way back to his desk with his ears perked for the sound of movement behind him. He had reached his chair and sat down before the younger man appeared in the hallway.

As soon as Gordon was in the room, his eyes were on the screen. He pulled up a chair and sat down without a comment, never once looking at his father. Jeff couldn't be sure if the young man's actions were intended as a snub or not. At least they were in the same room, and that was a start.

Both men leaned forward as Thunderbird Four moved toward the nose of the sub. Scott's approach was a bit low, and they watched as the camera slowly moved up the bulbous bow of the ship. When it cleared the bow, the greater wattage of Thunderbird Four's powerful headlamps showed far greater detail than the relatively puny lights of the drone.

When Thunderbird Four reached the conning tower of the sub, Gordon shifted in his seat. "Okay, Scott. Kill the engines. Let her drift from there."

"FAB." The little sub's momentum slowed a bit, but still carried her forward to the dangerous area around the stern of the ship.

Again, Thunderbird Four's stronger lights showed up more detail. The haziness of the net was studded with the dead and dying carcasses of fish, large and small. When a large bottlenose dolphin came into view, Jeff watched as Gordon reached out as if he could somehow change the animal's fate.

Gordon stared white-faced and grim, but after a moment seemed to come back to himself. "All stop, Scott."

"Uh, I can't see the screws from here."

"Yeah, I know. You need to burn away this crap before you go any further, Scott. Your movement could cause it to shift and that wouldn't be a good thing."

"That makes sense. Okay, deploying the laser cutter."

Jeff watched as the green light from the laser lit up the strands of the net. As before, the strands conducted the light and the heat of the laser along its length. After a moment, the strands dissolved and the laser light cut out.

"Wow. That makes a pretty show. I've cleared about a hundred square feet with just the one blast."

"Don't advance until you've gotten all of it that you can see."

"FAB." Scott's voice conveyed his preoccupation. The screen shifted as Scott pivoted Thunderbird Four to fire again. He fired a second then and third and fourth time, each time clearing out a significant section of the surrounding water.

After about twenty minutes of work, Gordon called a halt. "Okay, Scott. I think it's safe to move forward to the stern. But be careful."

"FAB. Say, Gordon, it's getting hot down here."

Gordon chuckled. "Occupational hazard. The laser cutter heats the surrounding water. You've got air conditioning, you know."

"I knew that." Scott's hasty reply implied he had forgotten.

"All stop, Scott. Pan down, let's see how she looks." As they had spoken, Scott had moved Thunderbird Four over to the stern of the ship. Now, at Gordon's suggestion, he panned the camera down to view the massive twin screws.

Scott's soft expletive was matched by Gordon's sudden gasp. The screws were indeed fouled by the net. It was wound so tightly that the left screw appeared as a solid white ball. The right screw was little better, appearing to be slightly out of focus with the vast amount of netting surrounding it.

"Wow." That came from Alan, safe aboard the SS Mobile. "That's a lot of net."

"Yeah, it is. Scott you're going to have to be very careful not to damage the screws or rudder with that laser. I suggest hitting the right screw first."

There was silence as Scott considered. Finally he replied. "Yeah, okay. I'll angle the laser away from the ship."

Scott got to work cutting away the dangerous net. It was slow treacherous work, and Jeff felt his muscles crack with the strain of holding still. At one point, a large patch of the net seemed to be floating toward Thunderbird Four, but when Gordon pointed it out, Scott managed to zap it before it got close.

It was a very long half-hour before Scott pronounced the right screw clear. At Gordon's direction, he pointed the laser at the left screw and fired. Much to everyone's relief and delight, the huge ball of net dissolved in a single blast and as suddenly as that, the sub was free.

"Good job, Scott!"

"Aw, shucks, t'weren't nothin'."

"I agree." Gordon said cheerfully relieved. "Okay, take her down, Scott. I want to get a good close look at the screws."

Jeff felt as if a weight had been lifted. They weren't home free yet, but it seemed as if the worst was over. He smiled at his son, but Gordon was too engrossed in the view on the screen to notice. "Okay, Scott. The screws look fine. Pan down to the vertical rudder for me."

The camera obediently moved down to the ship's rudder. The shadows of the screws didn't hide the haze around the hinge. "Scott…"

"Yeah, I see it." Thunderbird Four dropped down to the seabed, and Scott fired a blast that skated along the side of the rudder, lighting up the entire area as a massive section of net was lit from within. As the green light crawled along the strands, it was obvious that the net had been snagged on the jagged rocks of the seabed, holding the submarine captive.

Scott kept up the barrage as more and more of the deadly net glowed green then dissolved. As the green light started to race up the flank of the ship, Gordon called out, "Scott! Stop!"

The green laser light immediately winked out, but before anyone could ask what was wrong, there was a series of thuds that could be clearly heard through Thunderbird Four's speakers. "What was that?" John was the first to ask.

With a sigh, Gordon responded. "That would be the Mary Burton falling to the seabed. Scott, you'd better get over there. Those kind of DSVs are really delicate. They may be in trouble."

"Damn it. All right, I'm on my way."

"Be careful, son, you don't know if you've got all of that net."

"FAB, Dad."

Thunderbird Four lifted from the seabed and moved slowly along the flank of the ship. Within moments, the yellow pipe construction that was the Mary Burton came into sight. It was lying in what appeared to be a senseless jumble on the seabed. Jeff frowned as he tried to make heads or tails of it.

He was surprised when Gordon said with some relief, "She doesn't look like she's taken much damage. Scott, move around to the bow. You'll be able to communicate with the Light Type."

"That thing has a bow?" Scott's voice squeaked with confusion.

Gordon chuckled. "Yes, Scott, it has a bow. See that big bubble thing to the left? Move over to it."

"Okay, I'd like to hear a vote. How many thought that bubble was the front of the boat?" There was silence for a moment, then Scott said, "Thank you. Moving to the bubble thing."

Gordon grinned widely, finally looking over at his father. Jeff, for his part just shrugged. He had no more idea about the DSV than Scott did.

Gordon turned back to the screen as Scott reached the bubble. "Shit." It was clear that there had been some damage, as water was visible through the glass of the bubble, gushing from somewhere deep in the tiny craft. "Scott, no time to communicate, you have to get them out, now. The round thing that looks like an oil drum. That's the hatch. Get Four over there and hook up the universal lock."

"FAB." Scott's voice was no less urgent than Gordon's was, and the view from the camera swung wildly as Scott moved the tiny sub with alacrity.

"When you're hooked up, you're going to have to increase cabin pressure to at least three atmospheres to keep that water from fountaining aboard."

"Three atmospheres. Got it."

"And as soon as they're aboard, you need to disengage from that boat. Got it? Don't let them talk you into trying to raise it. Thunderbird Four can't handle the weight."

"Okay."

"And Scott…"

"What?"

"I won't be able to help you anymore. All three of these guys know me. They'll recognize my voice."

There was silence. Jeff looked sharply at his son, but Gordon wouldn't meet his eye. He sat running a hand over his face, the strain evident in every move.

"All right, boys, here's how it's going to go down. Gordon will tell me, and I will tell Scott. We simply can't afford to lose the expertise at this point."

"Agreed, Father. I've engaged the universal lock. Raising pressure to three atmospheres." There was silence for a few moments, then Scott continued. "I'm opening the hatch now."

There was an immediate sound of water forcefully running, but surprisingly few sounds of confusion. Jeff could hear the men climbing aboard Thunderbird Four with few comments, then the sound of the hatch ringing as it was slammed shut.

"You owe me twenty bucks."

"Excuse me?"

"Not you, him. We've been following your exploits. Your name is Gordon, right? Devon here was convinced you were a buddy of ours, Gordon Tracy. International Rescue is just the type of outfit he'd hook up with… Anyway, we had a bet going whether the Gordon from International Rescue was our buddy or not."

"Oh. Sorry, fellows, I'm the only Gordon with International Rescue. Now, if you'll make yourselves comfortable, I'll get us disengaged and on our way." Jeff marveled at how easily the lie fell off his otherwise honest son's lips.

"Wait! What about our boat?"

"What about it?"

"Can't you tow it or something? We can't just leave it here!"

"Guys, my job is to rescue lives, not machines. WASP will just have to make salvage arrangements."

"Ah, come on! You could at least try!"

Gordon began scribbling furiously on a pad. After a moment, he stopped and handed the pad to Jeff who read the message, and looked speculatively at his son, who in turn nodded briskly.

With a shrug, Jeff called out. "Base to Thunderbird Four."

"Thunderbird Four, go ahead base."

"We've been monitoring your conversation, and we suggest that the Het Mes might be able to assist."

"Hell yes! She's got tow cables! It's part of her survey equipment! She could raise Mary right here and now!"

Jeff smiled at the excited sailor's intimate name for his ship. Gordon was writing quickly again. Jeff took the proffered message and read. "Thunderbird Four, we recommend you access the same communication port the Mary Burton was using."

"Yeah. Until you cut us loose, we were in communication with Captain Blue. Set up there, and you'll be hooked right into the command center."

Gordon's suggestion worked like a charm. The rescued sailors were pleased to point out the access port, and never had a clue that 'Gordon' wouldn't have found it on his own.

Within a few minutes, it was agreed that Scott would transfer his victims to the larger ship via an upper hatch, and would pick up a wireless short-range communicator. That way he could assist in hooking up the cables from the Het Mes.

The transfer was accomplished with little fuss, but a great deal of gratitude from both the crew of the Mary Burton, and the captain of the Het Mes, who personally handed the walkie-talkie to Scott. Captain Blue expressed his own thanks, and offered Scott a meal in the officer's mess, which he declined.

Soon Scott was back onboard Thunderbird Four, and he disengaged the lock. The small scout ship moved away from the big sub, and started to float down to the seabed next to her. Gordon called out in alarm, "Scott! What the hell are you doing? Clear the area! NOW, Scott!"

Gordon's urgency was heeded, and the camera immediately showed Thunderbird Four moving quickly away. After a few moments, Scott's weary voice was heard. "Now that my heart has stopped racing, do you mind telling me what that was all about?"

There was no mistaking the surprise on Gordon's face. "The Het Mes is going to blow ballast."

It was said as if no other explanation was required. Jeff opened his mouth to ask, but John was a beat faster. "So what?"

Gordon frowned as he looked at the puzzled faces of John and Alan. He glanced over at Jeff, but the confusion was evident there also. Shaking his head, he responded, "Okay, think of it this way. Would you want to stand right next to Thunderbird Two when she lifts off?"

The light dawned in three sets of blue eyes. Alan nodded. "Important safety tip. Thank you, Egon. Scott, I order you to back off."

The view from Thunderbird Four's camera showed that Scott was way ahead of his brother, but his response was a growl. "You may want to re-think the wording of your request."

Before Alan could reply, there was an explosion of bubbles that surrounded the Het Mes, some ten yards away. Even with the distance, Thunderbird Four's camera's showed the small sub was rocked by the turbulence.

Within a few moments, the rocking stopped, and Scott asked warily, "Gordon? Is it safe to move yet?"

"Yeah, Scott. Call Captain Blue and have him drop his cables. They'll come from a compartment near the bow. About where you'd expect them to be if this were Thunderbird Two."

"FAB." Jeff listened as his son contacted the larger sub. After a terse conversation, a hatch opened about a third of the way back from the bow of the boat, and a heavy-duty cable was winched out.

Scott moved in with Thunderbird Four, and extended the grappling claws. After a single lunge and miss, Scott managed to snag the cable. With the sub supplying plenty of slack he moved over to the damaged DSV. There was a slight pause, then he asked, "Gordon, where do I hook this thing up?"

"Move to your right, Scott. See that red eye? That's the attachment point."

Scott seemed doubtful. "That's a mighty small target."

"If you don't think you can do it, maybe John can slave the grappling controls over to my computer."

"Yeah, I can do that."

"Wait a minute. Let me at least try." Jeff smiled. Scott's voice was calm, but Jeff knew that his pride had been stung. He figured Scott would rather die than let Gordon take over. Now that the danger of the net had abated, Jeff was willing to let his son try. But if he didn't make it in the first or second pass, he would intervene, pride or no pride.

"Okay, Scott. What you want to do is hold the hook by the shank, not the eye where it connects to the cable. You get better control that way. Use your maneuvering jets to get you close. Then extend the claw."

"FAB." Jeff watched as at first, Scott used both claws to get the grip that he wanted on the shank of the cable's hook. Then he moved Thunderbird Four forward. As Jeff watched, the tiny scout came to a halt.

Gordon immediately started shaking his head. "No, Scott, you need to be at least a foot closer."

"No, I can reach it. Just watch the master at work."

The camera showed the grappling claw being extended forward, and falling about a foot short.

"That was impressive." Came the sarcastic remark from John.

Scott just grunted, and hit the maneuvering jets. Thunderbird Four moved forward, but before Scott could stop, or move the claw, the target was overshot.

Alan snickered. "I'm glad I got the chance to see the 'master' at work."

"Shut up, you guys. I can do this." Scott's voice trailed off as he concentrated on the task at hand.

"The trick is to get within range of the target before you extend the grapple."

"Yeah, I see that now. I'm coming around for another shot at it."

"Be careful. You don't want to foul the cable."

"Right." The camera showed the scene as Thunderbird Four made her second pass at the attachment eye. This time, Scott did not stop until he was almost on top of the target. "How's this?"

"Perfect. Now just move the grapple out slowly, so you don't get any reactive movement."

This time the grapple inched forward and the hook slid into the eye with no problem. "Hah!" Scott's cry was jubilant.

"Way to go, big brother!" Gordon was just as pleased for his brother's success as he would have been for his own. Jeff had to smile.

"Okay, am I done now?" Scott's voice was wistful.

Gordon laughed, "Call the Het Mes, have her winch the Mary Burton up, to make sure the eye will hold. Then all you have to do is surface and toss that communicator up to Alan, and you can come home."

"Oh, come on, surely WASP can afford to lose one communicator!"

"Scott, those communicators have tracking capability." John stated casually.

"All right. I'm on my way up now." The camera on Thunderbird Four started to tilt up, but then, the screen clicked off and was replaced by a live image of Scott.

He glanced over at the onboard camera and smiled. "Good job, Gordon."

Jeff saw his fourth son color with pleasure at the praise. "Thanks, Scott. You did a great job yourself."

"Hey! I'm the commander here!" Alan whined. "I get to say 'good job.' Good job, you guys."

All four of the men listening laughed. Alan grinned. "I guess I better get Virgil back here before he eats Lady Penelope out of house and home."

"Good idea, son."

Jeff listened as Alan called Thunderbird Two. Virgil's instant answer told the story. The young man hadn't left his ship even to pay a call on Lady Penelope. When he advised he would be on site in eighteen point seven minutes, Gordon whipped a stopwatch out of his back pocket and clicked it.

Jeff smiled. He knew he and Gordon were going to have to talk about what had happened earlier, but for now, it was nice to just be comfortable with him. Together they listened as the rescue was wrapped up. Virgil arrived onsite exactly at his stated time. Scott surfaced some minutes later, and loaded Thunderbird Four into the pod without incident.

When both Thunderbirds One and Two were on their way home, Gordon suddenly stood, and without a comment or glance at his father, left the room. Jeff watched him go. The feeling of weight on his heart came back. Apparently things were not going to be easy between them.

With a sigh, Jeff got up from his desk and walked out onto the balcony. Resting his forearms on the railing he leaned wearily and looked out across the sun-spangled sea. After a few moments, he sensed a presence and looked up as Gordon joined him.

"I want to apologize for how I acted."

Jeff nodded, but said nothing, hoping his son would continue. After a brief silence, Gordon did. "I dunno, Dad, sometimes I just get this feeling like… like you don't really need me. Scott can do anything I can do faster and better."

"Oh, now, I know you don't mean that, son. You and I both know that Scott couldn't have handled this rescue without you."

Gordon shrugged. "Yeah. I know it, but then sometimes it's like I don't know it. It's like this is the one thing I can do really well, and if Scott can do it too, then… I don't know."

Jeff reflected that Gordon had never had issues with lack of self-confidence before his hydrofoil accident. He shook his head. "Son, there was never a question of who the better man for the job was. Scott will never match your skill with Thunderbird Four. I had to make a judgement call weighing your skill against the security of the organization. It might have been the wrong call, but it was my call to make."

Gordon snorted. "It was the right call, Dad. You heard Tim Beaks. They were expecting it to be me. And believe me, none of those guys can keep a secret. If I had been there, two seconds after they got on board the Het Mes, the whole fleet would have known Gordon Tracy is part of International Rescue."

"Well, I'm glad you understand that. And I certainly hope Scott's performance out there will put to rest any concern you might have about him taking over your job."

"His performance?"

"He was whining over a forty foot drop. John was right. He's a creampuff." Jeff eyed his startled fourth son. "And if you ever tell him I said that, you won't care for the consequences. Got it?"

Gordon smiled. "Got it in one, Dad."

Smiling Jeff turned back to watch the beautiful sunset. With his son beside him, no further conversation was necessary. Soon, his other boys would be home, and all would be right with his world. It had been a good day.

The End.


	3. Rlynch Challenges

**Challenges**

**By Rlynch**

_When International Rescue is called in to assist at a dormitory fire, they find challenges at different levels for all concerned. _

The fire could have been much worse. The sprinkler system activated quickly and the internal fire doors effectively closed off the eastern wing of the high-rise dormitory building. The same could not be said of the the central section, although the fire department was doing an admirable job of keeping the fire contained there. But it was the west wing of the building, where the fire had started, that Fire Chief McLain had been so concerned about. Although he now seemed embarrassed to have troubled International Rescue with a call for help.

Scott Tracy now sat at Mobile Control with the local fire chief nearby, awaiting reports from their respective crews. With them waited an official from the college, as the fire had occurred in what had been, prior to the fire, a graceful dormitory building.

Neither had to wait very long. As Scott's brothers began reporting in, he switched their conversations over to his headset, allowing more discreet communications with his brothers as well as allowing the fire chief to hear his own radio traffic more clearly.

Virgil had been tasked with getting an accounting of the residents after it became apparent that Firefly was not needed. Gordon and John had deployed the special elevator car equipped with the dicetylene jets to help contain the fire. They had been assigned to check the eight rooms on each floor of the ravaged western wing looking for victims. Their efforts appeared to have been unnecessary, as everyone had apparently evacuated safely.

"I'm sure glad you folks were available," the chief commented sheepishly, "although I hope we didn't keep you from something more life-threatening than this turned out to be. I was certain that those boys..."

"They are not boys," the woman next to him corrected, using a tone that implied that this was not a new discussion. "They are young men with challenges."

"Look, I can use all the politically correct terms you want, Jessie," McLain countered. "But the fact remains that some of those "young men" might have panicked and might not have been capable of evacuating safely. Even you spent too much time in there accounting for everyone."

Scott turned a puzzled frown to the matronly, middle-aged woman, who the fire chief had not deigned to introduce. Her short brown hair was disheveled and her face was streaked with smoke.

She extended her hand to him. "I'm Jessie Myles. I'm the project monitor for the group of men on the fourth floor." At Scott's inquiring look, she continued to explain the chief's concerns. "The university set aside a few rooms in that residence hall for a unique experiment. In a joint project of the departments of mental health and vocational rehabilitation, we paired sixteen young men and housed them all on the same floor. One of each pair is physically disabled, the other has some mental impairments. The idea is that while the physically impaired member pursues a college degree, the other acts as his aide and companion. In this way both receive training for a viable occupation by the time the physically impaired student graduates. Unfortunately," she glanced grimly at the fire chief, "the plan has some detractors..."

"Hey, I'm all for those guys being able to make their own way in the world," the man protested. "It's just that putting two men who can't take care of themselves alone doesn't mean that they can take care of themselves together..."

At that moment, one of the lights on mobile control began to flash, indicating an incoming message.

Scott turned to his monitors. "Just a moment... FAB, Virgil. What? Yes, she's right here..." He looked up with a grim expression. "Ms. Myles, apparently two of your charges are missing and the rest are very upset; all Virgil can make out is that their names are Silas and Daniel."

The woman blanched, and gazed up at the smoldering building. "Oh, no..."

Scott gently settled her into the seat at the control panel before she fell. "Virgil, stand by." Chief McLain knelt down at her side, a hand settled on her shoulders. "Ms. Myles--Jessie. Let's stay optimistic. We know they got out of the wing of the building. Both International Rescue and my men searched every floor and didn't find anyone, remember?"

She pushed the hair back from her face and took a deep breath, regaining her composure. "Yes, that's right."

"What can you tell me about these two men?" Scott asked. "Is there another way they could have escaped the fire?"

She sighed. "Other than one is mentally impaired and the other uses a wheelchair?" She tempered her words with a slight smile, and continued to gather herself. "Silas was designated "educatable mentally impaired", Daniel has Muscular Dystrophy. Those two were probably the most successful pairing we made. Silas can't be taught to read and has memory retention issues, but he can drive a car as long as he has a co-pilot and he is a talented cook. Daniel is completely confined to a motorized wheelchair--he's the most physically disabled student here--but he has a brilliant mind. He was...is... one semester away from an engineering degree."

"I know Silas is strong enough to lift Daniel if he needed to. Is it possible they could have managed to get into the east wing before the doors closed?" She was looking hopefully up at the fire chief, who stood, worrying his mustache.

"It's possible," he admitted, "if the mentally deficient boy could get the other over the fire threshold."

Now the light flashed at mobile control again. "Yes, John. One moment." Scott quickly snatched up a pair of binoculars and trained them on the balcony on the far eastern end of the building. "Got 'em, John! Good work!"

He turned back to the two anxious people at his side. "Ms. Myles, Chief, they're okay." He pointed up at the balcony four stories above them, as the thick smoke began to clear enough to see the two figures huddled there. They were relatively safe for the moment.

The chief breathed a sigh of relief, but the woman still looked upset. "But how are we ever going to get them down?" she mourned, echoing his own, though less frantic, thoughts.

Scott turned back to her with a reassuring smile. "We'll get them down, Ms. Myles. We just have to figure out the best way to do that." He pursed his lips thoughtfully, then reached out to flick one of the switches in front of him. This created an open circuit, one which created a conference that included all the deployed International Rescue operatives and by-passed his headset to allow Chief McLain and Jessie Myles to hear what was being discussed.

"Mobile Control to Base. Open contact."

"Go ahead, Scott," Jeff Tracy's gravelly baritone wound from the speakers.

"This is the situation, Base…" Scott went on to summarize the circumstances for his father and Brains on Tracy Island, and also for Alan, who was listening in from the satellite. "…So, unless, the chief here believes that Thunderbird Two's vertical jets will cause a further hazard, I believe the rescue capsule can be lowered and the two men could be assisted on board…"

The chief looked dubious, but nodded his head. "Yes, if your men can get close enough, that should work," he said slowly.

"Go ahead, then, Scott," Jeff agreed. "Let me know if you hit any snags. Br…I mean, our people here will be working out any possible contingencies."

"FAB, Base," Scott responded. "Virgil, leave the pod on the ground. John, you operate the winch. I think Gordon would be the best man in the capsule to help get the handicapped man aboard."

Three "FAB" 's acknowledged his orders, and Thunderbird Two was soon airborne.

Scott watched anxiously as Virgil's great green pride and joy hovered high above the building, looking oddly misshapen without the central pod that normally filled the space between the twin booms that connected the tail section to the nose section. She then gently began to descend vertically to within mere feet of the roof. A hatch slid open under the flight deck, and the opening filled as the rescue capsule was skillfully maneuvered into place.

Gordon could be seen behind the capsule's narrow railing, his copper hair glinting in the fitful sunlight that penetrated the clearing smoky pall surrounding the building. Scott noticed that he had donned a fire-proof suit, sans the blocky head piece.

"Gordon!" Scott barked over the radio. "Where's your helmet?"

He could see Gordon lift his arm and push back the sleeve to get to his wristcom.

"I've got it right here," Gordon raised his other hand, showing him the bulky head piece that normally covered his head and shoulders. "But this thing makes us look like something from outer space. I didn't want to frighten those two guys."

Scott glowered, unseen by his brother, then re-considered when he saw Jessie nod approvingly.

The rescue capsule continued to slowly lower, until its floor was level with the top rail of the balcony. Gordon retracted the railing, and hopped lightly to the balcony floor. There, he held a brief discussion with the two young men, accompanied by much head shaking by all three men. Finally, Gordon raised his telecom to his mouth again, a note of exasperation in his voice. "Scott, Daniel refuses to leave his chair behind, and Silas won't lift him out of it until we agree to take it aboard."

Scott's anxious expression became a scowl, as he expelled an irritated sigh. He knew there wouldn't be enough room in the rescue capsule for the young men, the wheelchair, AND Gordon.

"Scott, those chairs are custom-fitted and very expensive," Jessie interjected. "Daniel is literally helpless without it, and to deprive him of it would be like an amputation. Isn't there some way to rescue his chair, too? Silas and your man Gordon should be able to lift it into the capsule…"

Scott eyed her a moment, then reluctantly nodded and keyed the radio. "Gordon, send the two students AND the chair up. John, as soon as they unload, send the capsule back down for Gordon."

"Fath… uh, Base is not gonna like it," John's voice warned.

"I know, but I'll deal with that later," Scott responded.

"FAB," John replied, resigned.

The capsule was making its painstaking way back up to Thunderbird Two when the chief's radio crackled out a message that Scott couldn't hear clearly.

Alarmed, McLain turned to Scott. "We've got a critical flare-up in the central section! It's building toward a flash-over…"

Before Scott had a chance to warn Gordon, an ominous rumble rattled the intact windows of the building and the ground shook beneath them. Gordon, still without his protective head covering, only had enough time to drop down and cover his head and face with his arms before the heat-resistant glass doors to the balcony blew violently outward with a gout of flame and dark debris.

Stunned, Scott stared up at the balcony that his brother had occupied only moments before, but could see nothing at first except smoke and flaming debris.

He was trying to wrap his mind around the events that occurred above him, when John's voice ripped through Mobile Control's speakers. "Scott! I can't see Gordon!"

Scott swallowed hard against the dryness of his mouth. "Are the victims secure?" he managed at last.

"Yeah, uh, FAB," John acknowledged, clearly getting himself under control as well.

"Then get into a fire suit--a FULL fire suit--and switch winch control over to Virgil. Virg, can you get any lower?"

"Negative," Virgil sounded despondent. "If I move enough to clear the building, we'd be too far from the balcony for the capsule to reach it."

"I'm ready," John announced.

"Ready for what?" The voice was breathless and choking, but it was undoubtedly Gordon.

"Gordon, report!" Scott barked automatically. He tried again. "Are you all right?"

"Well, I've been better…" Gordon breathed. "Hey John, if you're ready, then you better lower that capsule…It's a little hard to talk here with all this smoke…"

"Of all the…" John grumbled, but clearly relieved. "Be right down…"

---------------

Gordon was soon back on solid ground, his hair and face smoke-stained, as the chief and teacher offered their profuse thanks to the team. Against his older brothers' better judgment, Gordon insisted he was uninjured and had refused any attention from the EMTs standing by. Daniel attempted to extend his hand to the red-headed Tracy, a motion that looked more like he was throwing his arm toward him using his shoulder muscles, while Silas gave him an unself-conscious hug.

"Well, Scott," said Chief McLain, "I guess International Rescue didn't make a completely wasted trip."

"No, but really, those two practically rescued themselves without us," Scott replied. "If it hadn't been for the back-flash, you'd have found a way to get them down." He turned to the Project Monitor with a grin. "Looks like your project is not a wasted effort, either. Those young men conducted themselves well, without any outside intervention."

"They did, didn't they?" Jessie remarked, then turned a sardonic grin to the fire chief, who gave her an answering grin.

"Yeah, they did okay...So Silas is great cook, huh? See if you can arrange for him to come down to the fire station and audition for our shift cook after Daniel graduates. You know a fire company is always on the look out for a great cook..."

"I'll see what I can do, chief, I'll see what I can do..."


	4. Spense A Little Class and Culture

**A LITTLE CLASS AND CULTURE, OR THE ART OF ENGINEERING**

By Spense

Note: This is TV-Verse.

"Romeo, Oh Romeo, Where art thou, Romeo?"

Gordon slunk down in his seat in the plush New York theater. He was about as bored as he could possibly get. A quick glance over at Alan confirmed that he was nearly asleep. Virgil, on the other hand, looked towards the stage with rapt attention. John looked interested, but not particularly fascinated. All utterly normal reactions for the brothers in question.

There was one surprise, though. Scott met Gordon's glance and made a theatrical grimace like he might puke. It was so over-the-top, so much like the actors on the stage, and so un-Scott like, that Gordon gave a snort of laughter in surprise. He would have thought that Scott would have supported this kind of 'cultural experience' for his brothers.

Lady Penelope turned towards him and frowned. "Gordon," she whispered firmly. "Hush! This is the balcony scene – the most famous scene in '_Romeo and Juliet'."_

Scott, on Penny's other side, mouthed 'baloney' at him. It was all Gordon could do to not burst out laughing, earning him another stern look from Penny. Still snickering, Gordon turned his attention back to the stage and tried to stay awake.

**_TB TB TB TB TB _**

At the conclusion of the play, the five Tracy brothers, accompanied by Lady Penelope, exited the theater onto the chilly New York street. The group of five handsome young men surrounding the striking blond woman turned many heads as they strode down the sidewalk. The young men's dark, elegant wool coats set off Penny's silver and white wool dress coat to perfection.

Alan at least waited until they were clear of the theater before groaning and asking, "And the point of that was . . .?"

Gordon snickered. "The point was to see adults play dress up and speak in unintelligible sentences."

There was a round of laughter in appreciation of this sally.

Scott grinned at Alan. "You know Al, I don't know that you caught any of it. Every time I looked at you, you were sound asleep."

"I was not!" Alan protested. Then he grinned sheepishly. "Well . . . only some of the time. That really has to be one of the most boring things I've ever seen."

Virgil shook his head in disgust. "Come on guys. It's art! It's a play that's lasted hundreds of years, and sparked tons of imitations. It defines the human spirit and a human's need for love."

"It's b------t," Alan comment firmly.

"Alan!" Penny reprimanded, amidst the other brothers' laughter. "Your father would not be pleased."

"Alan, you have a supreme talent with language that rivals Shakespeare's. Eloquently put!" Gordon grinned.

John and Scott were grinning as well at the byplay. "I can see why Dad bowed out," John commented thoughtfully. "That wasn't exactly the most . . . stimulating . . . play, or production, for that matter, that I've seen."

Penny rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Your father had urgent business to attend to. He had fully planned on joining us." She ignored the low, sarcastic 'uh-huh, sure,' that essayed from Gordon's direction, and continued. "He agrees with me that it is important for you boys to get out and experience some culture. He felt my idea to take all of you to the play was excellent, especially when I pointed out that only Virgil and John have ever had any real exposure to the arts. You have all been involved in IR to the exclusion of all else, and your education prior to that was sadly lacking in the arts. That's why, when I first made the suggestion, Jeff was more than happy to arrange for Brains to man TB Five so you would all be able to attend."

"Well, I enjoyed it mostly because I just like Shakespeare, '_Romeo and Juliet_' isn't exactly my favorite play." Virgil commented staunchly, as much in agreement as to shut up the inevitable comments that Penny's statement would spark. "Shakespeare's use of the language is really amazing."

"If you can understand whatever it is he's saying!" Alan muttered darkly.

Virgil ignored him and continued thoughtfully, "But I have to admit that I'd rather see something like '_King Lear'_ or '_Macbeth_'. '_Romeo and Juliet'_, while beautifully crafted, is, well, frankly . . stupid! Juliet is a spoiled brat, and Romeo sure doesn't look to be a prize either."

The other four Tracy brothers burst into peals of laughter as much at Penny's scandalized expression as at Virgil's words.

"Virgil Tracy!" She exclaimed. "I thought that you, of all people, could appreciate this timeless love story!"

"Me?" Virgil exclaimed. "Not bloody likely. I'm cooped up on an island all the time. None of us gets out enough to use what it professes."

Penny interrupted. "I rest my case."

Virgil shook his head. "No, that's not what I meant. I mean, '_Romeo and Juliet_' is about as close to love as I'm likely to get until work slows down! You have to meet women in order to appreciate a love story. And to meet women, we have to get OFF the island. Unless maybe one washes up on the beach. . . . And the chances of that are about zero. Anyway, neither is likely to happen anytime soon! About the only one of us likely to get anything useful out of that play is Alan here. He's the only one involved in a serious relationship, and he slept through it!"

Alan flushed a bright red at the explosion of laughter around him. His relationship with TinTin was still pretty new.

"Yeah, Al. Learn some new phrases to use with TinTin?" Gordon kidded his youngest brother.

"Well, the more drama the better has certainly been Alan's mode of operation all of his life! Just forget the suicide part, huh kiddo?" Scott laughed.

"Come on guys . . . " Alan was fiery red with embarrassment.

John rescued him by steering the conversation in a different direction. "Virg has a point. I mean, my focus has been so much on rescues lately that I watched the whole thing thinking about how unsafe that balcony set was. Can you just see us, up on stage, helping to rescue the actors, all the while trying to pretend we aren't IR?" John grinned. "Now isn't that a paradox?"

"Honestly, we all deserve a Tony Award anyway for our usual acting prowess on the job!" Virgil laughed in agreement. "Personally, I think we're much better than the actors we saw tonight."

"I'd have to agree with you there," John answered.

"And the mechanics of the sets were driving me crazy," Alan commented. "I mean, how squeaky can that machinery get? A little WD40 and some better engineering would be in order."

That comment sparked a spirited discussion about the poor design of the set, the shakiness of the whole balcony, and possible ways to improve it.

". . . And a cherry picker to put it together." Virgil's eyes glowed at the thought of a big machine hoisting the set up to it heights.

"Boys," Penny sighed. She was again over shadowed by the enthusiastic discussion. "BOYS!" She yelled this time, getting the desired silence. "Boys, it's about ART, not engineering!"

This time the silence was puzzled. "But engineering is way more interesting," Alan said firmly.

"We'll tell TinTin that," John commented dryly, sparking another explosion of laughter.

Still snickering, Gordon interjected, "More people would probably go see it if it were a disaster and we could rescue them."

"Here, here!" Scott applauded. "That would certainly liven things up."

The conversation turned technical again, as the brothers tried to top each other by determining manner of disaster and method of rescue.

Penny shook her head in disgust. "No wonder your father thought my suggestion about culture was a good one. All of you need to grow up!"

John piped up. "No, only Alan. He's the reason we can't go to a bar. He's still underage."

Alan flashed back, "Only for another three weeks."

"Children, children," Virgil soothed. "Be calm for a moment. I believe the art of engineering will win the day."

The whole party looked at him oddly until he continued. "All we need to do is tell Lady Penelope exactly what Dad's urgent business was."

The group was silent except for Scott who started to laugh. "You wouldn't, Virg."

Virgil smiled serenely. "Oh, but I would. Dad made us all attend '_Romeo & Juliet'_, while his 'urgent, unforeseen business' was trying to get the fireplace in the apartment fixed."

"What?" Lady Penelope asked dangerously.

"Yes, Lady P. Dad felt that the art of engineering in fixing the fireplace superseded the class and culture of Romeo and Juliet."

Penny's mouth tightened. "Well, I'll just have to make sure I change his mind for him." Taking a deep breath, she headed down the street. "Come along boys."

Suddenly sober, the five brothers looked after the dainty woman, before following warily.

"Hmmm, maybe '_Macbeth_' would have been more to the point after all," Gordon muttered.

John just raised his eyebrows and quoted. "Boil, boil, toil and trouble . . ."

"Or 'What a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive'," Scott quoted in reply.

"Poor Dad . . ." was all Alan had to say.


End file.
